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COPYRIGHT DEFHJSrr. 



The Breath of the Mountains 



By 
BEVERLEY DORAN 




Ajrti eti^sVeritatt 



Boston 
THE POET LORE COMPANY 

Publishers 
1907 



Copyright 1907 by The Poet Lore Company 
All rights reserved 









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The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



CONTENTS 

The Breath of the Mountains 9 

Lines on Leonardo Da Vinci 10 

Da Vinci^s '^ Last Supper** 12 

Sonnet to Leonardo Da Vinci 1 3 

Vallomhrosa 14 

Sunset 14 

Early Morning 1 5 

An Episode 16 

A Song 18 

Kundry 20 

To a Mountain Brook 20 

Maternal Love 21 

A Song of the Sea 22 

The American Woman 23 

Music — An Ode 24 

Descent 26 

/ — Veronese 26 

// — Rubens 27 

III — The French School of Realism 28 

Gibraltar 30 

Two Pictures 32 

A Presence in the Room 34 



Primal Force 35 

Sonnet on Robert Browning 36 

A Sailo/s Song of the Tropics 37 

T he Law of Renewal 3^ 

A Spring Prophecy 39 

The Silent Land 41 

An Unmanned Boat 42 

A Lullaby 43 

A Song Cycle 45 

Spring 45 

Summer 45 

Autumn 46 

Winter 46 

An Ocean Memory 47 

The Swan Song of Autumn 50 

The Winds are Sculptors of the Clouds 52 

What is a Brook ? 54 

The Awakening 55 

Foreboding 56 

Astir 57 

Nature in the Mountains 59 



Cries of the People 6o 

Lines on Guido Renins Beatrice Cenci 65 

The Chant of a Frigate 67 

Eternal Love 69 

*'r he Choice" 71 

Between Sleep and Death 78 



THE BREATH OF THE MOUNTAINS 



THE BREATH OF THE MOUNTAINS 

The sunset pales beyond the hills 

To violet and gray, 
And with a tender twilight fills 
The valley with its daffodils, 
Its herded flocks and drowsy mills 

And faintly scented hay. 

Far up the wooded mountain height 

A chilly breath is born. 
An evening breath — serene and light 
That whispers to the summer night 
A cooling message of delight — 
Then wanders on till morn. 



LINES ON LEONARDO DA VINCI 

Like a river rolling onward 

In four swiftly flowing branches, — 

Was his genius — rich and varied 

His stupendous gifts and powers 

Which found utterance and expression 

In his painting and his sculpture, 

In mechanical invention, 

In his architectural science. — 

Everything he wrought at prospered, — 

Clear and true his sweep of vision. 

And the people called him * 'Master," — 

Kings and peasants loved and v/ondered 

At his full and splendid knowledge. — 

While in humbleness of spirit 

He who knew the high perfection 

Of the inner aspiration — 

Never reached his soul's desire. 

Never gave the outward picture 

Of those heavenly ideals 

Resting there within his nature 

As the full moon's clear reflection 

Rests upon a mighty river — 

Sinks within it deep and deeper 

Until all its waves turn silver — 

Seem a glistening path of moonlight 

Filled and brimming with its glory. 



10 



So Da Vinci saw the visions, 
Drew the God-illumined forces 
Round about him like a garment 
Till his dreams grew high and higher. 
What he did but seemed the presage 
Of those better things he dreamed of. 
Thus he filled his wondrous mission 
And passed onward gravely eager 
For the lifting of life's curtain 
On a universe of splendor. 



II 



DA VINCI'S *'LAST SUPPER" 

Behold the face and attitude of Christ! 
Never before has artist breathed such strength 
Into this vast and unattained ideal. 
See the benignant brow — its lofty breadth 
Expressing the unearthly power within. 
And then the somber eyes and drooping lids 
So full of patience and of weary love! 
No beauty in the face belittles it. 
The mouth is almost bitter in its curve, 
As tho* Christ felt His spirit's loneliness. 
Yet all the form in brooding tenderness 
Leans, as it were, above the startled Twelve 
Who hear Him tell of that black coming deed 
Which stained a world in perfidy and guilt. 

Only the dark-browed Judas understands 
He seems affrighted that tke Christ knows all. 
The others show their deepening distress, — 
John sinks in terror from the coming woe, 
Peter, in haste, is whispering in his ear. 
While James the Greater starts aback in 

shame. 
And Thomas springs toward Judas for 

revenge. 



12 



Philip alone is filled with heavenly love 

For Jesus — whose eyes — yearning — turn to 

him 
At this rare touch of fullest sympathy. 
The others show belief or unbelief. 
The simple room— with windows looking out 
Towards fair Jerusalem beyond the hills 
Complete and round this pictured tragedy. 



SONNET TO LEONARDO DA VINCI 

Mighty spirit of a mighty past 

Where, in the onward sweep of life, art thou ? 

And thro' whatever broadening currents now 

Are all the powers of thy genius cast 

In full and joyous plenitude at last! 

Only a perfect Being can endow 

Mankind within that little arch of brow 

With attributes so mystical and vast. 

I wonder whether now, from out some height. 

Thy brooding memory dwells on earth agam 

And sees thy works and knows their changeless 

right 
To utmost reverence on our human plane. 
So may thy past and present both unite 
To show thee all thy genius shall attain. 



13 



VALLOMBROSA 

Sunset 

Look far down the valley yonder 
And beyond, to where the slopes 
Of the purple Apennines 
Rise majestic, range on range 
Towards the sunset. See the trees 
Standing clear against the sky; 
The deep orange light revealing 
Every branch of those tall pines 
That, like sentries of the mountains, 
Stilly watch across vast spaces. 
Wild ravines and ragged rocks 
Lie between — and the hills 
Folded soft in misty outlines 
Seem asleep. 



14 



Early Morning 

From the near monastery tower 

A bell rings out the hour of three. 
The summer night has gently sped, 

And soft bird-notes rise sleepily 
From out the forest near at hand; 

While woodsmen take their early way 
To work upon some lower land, 

Reached when the valley wakes today. 

Along the mountainous outlines 

A pearly light begins to creep, 
And night winds sighing through the pines 

Arouse the forest from its sleep. 
Yet all the sky is filled with stars. 

Planets and satellites in train. 
And on beyond the fiery Mars 

Still other shining planets reign 
In royal orbits of their own 

With depths on depths of space between, 
Each sweeping in its path alone 

To some one distant goal unseen. 
Towards Vallombrosan solitudes 

These planets bend in still delight, 
And send their trailing glories down 

To rest upon this mountain height. 



15 



AN EPISODE 

Across the shoulder of yon green hill 

Two lovers rode thro' a summer noon. 
Their horses' hoof-beats seeming to fill 

The clear-cut measure of a tune. 
And the strain on saddle, girth and rein 

Of yielding leather marked the time 
As pacing slowly on, they gain 

The crest of the hill and that view sub- 
lime. 

He was a man of vigorous life. 

Well-knit, well-poised, alert and strong 
With mind and body not at strife 

But matched, as the words of a noble song 
Are matched to the harmony's rise and fall. 

So he — as he watched the distant view. 
Seemed, in a way, a part of it all — 

A creature living thro' and thro.' 

And she was a woman whose springs arose 

Like a mountain stream from cloud-capped 
heights 
Where dwelt 'mid everlasting snows 

The lonely vestal who trimmed the lights. 
A warmth and beauty of form and face 

Revealed yet hid this inner power 
And made her a temple of womanly grace 

A strength and joy for earth's fullest hour. 



i6 



And this was the hour in both their lives 

When earth and heaven seemed fused in one 
And every word thro' life survives 

The wildest storm — or blazing sun. 
They turned and for a moment's space 

They loved beyond the power of speech. 
Depths calling from each human face 

To inner depths no word could reach. 

Then slowly pacing thro' the wood 

Retraced their path in light and shade; 
While Nature — watching — understood 

Her love-thrilled children — man and maid 
And cast a glamour on hill and dale, 

And breathed a breath of ecstasy, 
Enfolding them as in a veil, 

A sacred veil of mystery. 



17 



A SONG 

Oh, wind of April 

Bear me aloft 

To yonder sky 
Until I see the world grow small, 
A turning, whirling, vanishing ball! 
Then I, then I shall be free from it all - 

And breathe anew 

In the deepening blue 
A breath of rare delight 
As I gain that stellar height. 

So bear me aloft 

Oh, wind of April 

Pure and soft! 

Oh, wind of April 

Hear my sigh. 

Give me cheer, 

Come silently near. 
And sweep me singing up to the stars, 
Jupiter, Venus and fiery Mars! 
Then I, then I shall cross the bars 

Of living light 

So fiercely bright 
And see with mortal eyes 
The wonders of the skies. 

So hear my sigh, 

Oh, wind of April 

Make reply! 



i8 



Oh, wind of April 

Give me rest 

Within thy arms 

From all alarms! 
So, like a tired, storm-tossed bird 
I*m listening for thy whispered word. 
Then I, then I — when I have heard 

Will swing me free 

Far out to sea. 
And on my wind-swept throne 
Shall drift from zone to zone. 

So give me rest 

Oh, wind of April 

On thy breast! 



19 



KUNDRY 

A desert wind sweeps round her as she comes 
From her lone, distant quest in Arabic. 
And ever that same desert loneliness, 
That strange aloofness seems to follow her 
Thro' all her tragic passion for the good. 
And all her wild abandonment to wrong. 
She lives the lonely one — misunderstood — 
Despised — tormented — but the one who serves 
And, at the last, the one who rises near 
To perfect service — selfless, patient, true. 
For she, indeed, received naught from the 

knights. 
Save in that searching moment of despair 
When to her dimming eyes the sign of grace 
Was granted as she lay in final peace. 



TO A MOUNTAIN BROOK 

Thou cheery singer of the mountain glens, 
Thou softest babbler to the ancient wood, 

Where all the velvet-footed denizens 

Feel a still joy within thy neighborhood, 
As if thy blithesome voice was understood. 

Thy quiet pools hold dreams of peace and rest, 
Thy glancing ripples look as tho' they could 

In sudden fancy speak a merry jest 

And make thy sylvan spirit manifest. 



20 



MATERNAL LOVE 

Up to the realm of human life 
A mighty instinct holds its way, 

Deepening fiercely step by step 

From worm and fish to beast of prey. 

Till reaching past the blind demand, 
It suns itself in woman's eyes 

And grows to consciousness at last, 
A dawning power deep and wise. 

This splendid fire of mother love 
Uplifts to slay and slays to live. 

A selfless hunger — keen and sweet. 
An inward, urgent need to give — 

To give of patience, time and strength, 
To give of actions small and great, 

To give of soul's inspiring force, 
To give, in order to create. — 

'Tis mother love that year by year 
Awakes the soul, subdues the beast, 

Unveils each trembling joy of earth 
And lives forever God's high priest. 

The poise of body, mind and soul 

Can soonest come thro' simplest ways. 

Instruct the mothers of our race. 
Waste not the time in weak delays. 



21 



For every gift we give to them 

Their lives will tender rich return. 

The best on earth is none too good 
As incense at their shrine to burn. 

At last maternal love shall speak 
With freedom — and in loftier guise; 

Humanity spring toward the goal 
With light of triumph in its eyes. 



A SONG OF THE SEA 

Oh, give me thy pearls 

And thy beryl green 
Under thy swirls 

Of glistening sheen! 

And give me thy grace 

And charm so fine, 
Thy sea-foam of lace. 

Thy melting sky line, 

Thy fragile green reefs 

And red coral isles. 
Thy crag bas-reliefs 

And thy measureless miles! 



22 



THE AMERICAN WOMAN 

High on the rim of the world she stands 

Looking out towards a future day, 
Which slowly brightens and expands 
As earth and earth's unlightened lands 
Swing forward along their spiral way. 

This is the daughter of all the past 

Who holds as a gift the keys of fate, 
Who will lead the way thro' doors at last 
To human temples new and vast 
Which only she may consecrate. 



23 



MUSIG — AN ODE 

When, in the Eden world, 

A gate was closed against the pair, 

And angel hands wheeled to and fro 

A fateful, flaming sword — 

In the dread silence of the outer night 

A rhythmic cadence grew and filled the void, 

A blossoming into sound, serene and clear 

Of woods, and stars and planets: and the winds 

Became their messengers about the world 

And drew a mighty diapason 

Over leagues of space, to die in 

Plaintive moaning at lone Eden*s gate. 

Thus were the pair born into Music's realm. 

The forces of the world still sing their myriad 

songs 
Since those first children thrilled and dim of 

soul 
Listened to Nature's wildest orchestra 
Which swept about their wanderings 
Among the dewy pathways of the early world. 
And evermore this rhythmic realm 
Can fill us with immortal yearnings, — 
Transporting us by mystic power 
To fiery planets or cathedral woods, 
Or the wild clamor and seductive grace 
Of all earth's boundless seas. 
From out these elements of sound 
Man has created all his harmonies. 



24 



A Bach can give us whisperings of the sea; 

Its lightly rippling, many-crested waves, 

Its thunderous depths rolling in organ tones 

To die in solemn surges on the beach. 

Or Handel sing the songs the planets teach, 

A starry, radiant world, all pulsing 

With hymns of praise and prayer. 

While great Beethoven, ere we are aware 

Draws us within the shadows of the wood 

And makes us hear its hum of teeming life. 

The music of the pine sings thro* his soul. 

The oak has bent in stately plaint for him. 

Each tree has its own woodland motive sung, 

And even nesting birds and violets dim 

Awake within the circle of his art. 

A Wagner sweeps a mountain chant, 

And all the world which, seemingly, was dull 

To trumpet blast, responds from silent depths 

To harmonies half human — half divine. 

All cosmic sound 
Has found it's echoed duplicate 
In human music drawn from human souls. 
For every aspiration of the race 
And every dream of perfect harmony 
Is mirrored in this plastic realm of tone. 
The union of the earth and highest heaven 
Reveals itself in music as a flame 
Which touches every race beneath the sun. 
And lo! The gate of Eden is unlocked. 
Each spirit enters into rest. 
Is understood — and gladly understands. 



25 



DESCENT 
I 

Veronese 

Beauty was visioned to his mind in regal state, 
And he, her servitor, spent all his mounting 

wealth 
Of genius on those fair and stately works of art 
Which, in design and color, splendid line and 

form 
Excel that elder school of Venice from whose 

stem 
This art exotic grew. Behold his canvases — 
What shade on shade of melting color holds the 

eye. 
What true and clean-cut lines swept by a master 

craft! 
The grouping of the sumptuous figures all re- 
veal 
A clear and steadfast method — a consummate 

art 
A pagan love for all the outward shows of things. 
No tender subtleties, no shadows where the soul 
May rest in dim and high obscurity and prayer. 
But only earthly beauty — vibrant and 

supreme. 



26 



II 

Rubens 

A man of Flemish mind 
Who painted all the folk he knew 
In gorgeous robes of brown and blue, 
And ever as he painted grew 

To understand his kind. 

His burghers richly dresst, 
Their comely wives and daughters fair 
And children with their shining hair 
All proudly conscious that they wear 

Their finest and their best. 

And at his highest reach 
In those great pictures where his heart 
Seems quick to prompt his fullest art 
He still remains in thought a part 

Of Flanders* life and speech. 

Always the outward show 
The full demand of touch and sight 
The local color clear and bright, 
In Flemish pride and Flemish might 

His pictures are aglow. 



27 



Along a lower grade 
Below those keen Venetian schools 
Where he had learned his artist rules 
And grown a master of his tools 

His lines of work were laid. 

No tenderness is here, 
No sympathy for human pain, 
No joys above an earthly plane, 
No deeper wisdom of the brain. 

No reverence or fear. 



Ill 

The French School of Realism 

From Veronese*s stately grace 

From Rubens' strong and forceful place 

Descend 

Oh, friend, 
And on the modern school of France 
Uprisen from her dreamless trance 

Attend. 

We see her turn from rule and chart, 
We see that quick, impulsive start 

To stray 

Away 
To pastures red and pastures blue 
To sift creation thro' and thro' 

In play. 

28 



She likes the outward look of life. 
The gay unrest — the noise — the strife, 

The haste 

And waste 
Of shallow heart and shallow brain 
With all life's sweetness in their train 

Debased. 

She likes the ugly and the strange 
Beyond convention's utmost range. 

Her eyes 

Are wise 
And very quick to gather in 
All new and glittering forms of sin 

That rise. 

Her masters were those artists old 
Who half-truths always keenly told, 

And so 

Below 
Comes filtering down in low estate 
This soulless one to meet her fate 

Of woe. 

She is not free — she is not bound — 
But gropes all blindly on the ground, 

The past 

Has cast 
An evil charm about her feet 
\nd draws her on, her doom to meet 

At last. 



29 



GIBRALTAR 

A rock in the sea 

Rising sheer from its base 
To the mist floating free 

Across its dark face. 

The summit all bare 

Save a strange purple haze 
Like a veil clinging there 

To this ancient of days. 

At the back towards the bay 
Lies the white, sheltered town. 

While above the salt spray 
The black cannon frown. 

From a tropical garden 
Sweet hedges and bowers 

Fling perfumes of Eden 
To where the fort towers; 

Which, sleepless and silent. 

Stands ever on guard, 
A giant unspent. 

Grim, unbending and hard. 



30 



England's keen living race 
With its dominant mind 

Treads the town face to face 
With the halt and the blind. 

The Spaniard and Moor, 
And the men of the plain, 

Are the feeble and poor 
With life on the wane. 

Yet they may be renewed, 
They already look up. 

For the strong Saxon brood 
Are holding life's cup. 

And the warrior rock 
By overmastering fate 

Holds the key to the lock 
Of the Eastern gate. 



31 



TWO PICTURES 

I 

Along the silent pathways of the forest blow 
The winter winds, and falls the pure untrodden 

snow 
In whirling veils about the hemlocks and the 

pines 
And all the stately guardians of those sylvan 

shrines 
From which arise a worship free and undefiled. 
The flashing forest stream lies still and recon- 
ciled 
Beneath its cloak of ice; and on its margin 

bends 
A wealth of flower and fern on which the snow 

descends, 
And moulds each outline in a glistening coat of 

mail, 
While spears and fairy swords in marvelous 

detail 
Equip these faithful sentries of the sleeping 

stream. 
A close and tender silence seems to reign 

supreme, 
A breathing pause in Nature's sacred liturgy, 
While through the forest sweeps a brooding 

mystery. 



32 



II 



Within a cradle lies a rosy, sleeping child. 

A breathing wonder floated from the outer wild 

To our fair shores of earth, and moulded to this 
form 

Of beauty (as a snow flake in the winter's storm) 

At Nature's high behest. While in that childish 
mind 

Rest latent powers, that fetterless and uncon- 
fined. 

May wing our star-illumined universe at length 

With high and boundless stores of free and fear- 
less strength. 

That tender form of childhood like a perfect 
flower 

Awaits in seeming helplessness the fateful hour 

When, as the wind that bloweth from a region 
high 

Down to our warmly sheltered, cloud encom- 
passed sky. 

That sleeping mind awakes within its fragile 
shrine, 

And lo! the flower of life is touched with breath 
divine. 



33 



A PRESENCE IN THE ROOM 

A presence in the room, 
A feeling keen and sweet 

That some beloved friend 

Beyond time's loom 

Had come my soul to greet. 

Have you not felt the same ? 

One moment quite alone 
Close locked within earth's bounds, 
The next — a name 

Or a remembered tone 

Will quicken all the mind 
Till — for a moment's space 

A silent, living shade 

Serene and kind 

We almost seem to face. 

Oh word beyond our speech! 

Oh sense so nearly sight 
When can mortality 
The secret reach 

And gain this spirit height. 



34 



PRIMAL FORCE 

Primal matter or force 

Primal atom or wave 
Whirling along in thy course 

Without a birth or a grave. 

Open our eyes to see 

Open our ears to hear 
One sw^eep of thy harmony, 

One flash from thy higher sphere. 

Behold all thy boundless might 
Unwearied thro* eons of time 

Steadily building in light 

A pulsating pathway sublime. 

The drift of all science is clear — 
It tends towards the fountains of life 

It puts by all cowardly fear, 

It goes beyond regions of strive. 

And the universe silently lies 
Enwrapped in colossal law, 

Pliant — invincible — wise, 
Without one blot or flaw. 



35 



SONNET ON ROBERT BROWNING 

** Wander at will 
Day after day, 
Wander away 
Wandering still, — 
Soul that canst soar! 
Body may slumber 
Body may cumber 
Soul-flight no more." 

From Pisgah Sights 

His spirit like a clear and restless flame 
Swept up and down thro' life's strange, devious 

ways, 
Lighting all dark abodes as with a blaze 
Of inner fire. And always with one aims|^» \ 
One fierce, half-conscious thirsting for the good 
In all the world! To draw it to the light. 
To lift it up with superhuman might 
Until men felt — and saw and understood 
The fullest meaning of the highest love. 
This seemed the heart of everything he wrote, 
This was the goal his truest instincts sought, 
To lift us by all human paths above 
Our feeble fears and doubtings — till we float 
To his high level of enfranchised thought. 



36 



A SAILOR'S SONG OF THE TROPICS 

Here let us always stay 

Thro* langorous night and day 

Under the tropic shade 

Of some palmetto glade 

Between whose branches gleam afar 

The sands of Malabar. 

The line of ocean seems 
A silver web of dreams 
Beyond the shimmering sands 
Which ring these southern lands. 
While nature in her balmy sleep 
Woos us with magic deep. 

Oh! when afar we sail 

Before a northern gale 

May visions of this shore 

Return to us once more 

And lustrous eyes in beauty glow 

And voices murmur low. 

And thro' the icy blast 
Fair pictures from the past 
Blot out the winter's storm, 
While perfumed breezes warm 
Arise and bear us drifting free 
Across a summer sea. 



37 



THE LAW OF RENEWAL 

Out of our deepest weariness and pain, 

Our bitter disillusions and despair, 
Slowly, with dulled and clouded brain. 

We issue from the turmoil and the glare, 
Crying aloud in misery of soul 
For mother-earth to make us sane and whole. 
Then, thro' the silences of night 

And fine renewals of the patient days 
Our turbulence of suffering drops from sight, 

Borne down that river which, in hidden ways, 
Freshens the rootings of our trees of life 
And flings its tides across our wildest strife. 
Behold! The radiant seasons, circling change 

Draws us along the spiral labyrinth. 
Familiar — yet forever new and strange — 

Each violet and every hyacinth 
That yearly wakes and blooms upon the earth 
Heralds within our souls a mystic birth. 
The world of nature stirs the world of mind. 

And, as our natures struggle towards a height 
With self-same instinct as the plants that find 

Their blind tenacious way from dark to light, 
So, in our deepest thought, the path is found 
Which leads us on and up to sacred ground. 



38 



A SPRING PROPHECY 

As spring lifts the drooping vine 
And reddens the maple buds, 
As the rising sap of the pine 
Whispers to sleeping floods, 
Awake! 
Awake from your marsh beds cool 
Awake and rule. — 

So — out of the dawning light 
Of this wonder-working age, 
In growing instinct of might 
Is waking a prophet — a sage. 
"All hail!" 
"All hail!" he calls to the earth — 
"Hail and new birth," — 

And over the land is blown 
The breath of a great desire. 

A seed of powder is sov»-n 
In Pentecostal fire. 
Arise, 

Arise and break the strain 

'Twixt heart and brain. 

A humming electric stir 

Comes into the ways of life — 
Portentous messenger 

Of a new and subtler strife. 
Behold! 
Behold the leaders rise 
Alert and wise. 

39 



The restless human will 

And the slumbering human heart 
Are roused from a slumber chill 

And wake to a nobler part. 
Rejoice! 
Rejoice humanity 
For thou art free! 

Free from that lowest past 

Where the trail of the beast of prey 
Lies like a shadow vast 

Over the fairest day. 
Speed on, 
Speed on to thy high place, 
O human race, 

Free from theology's band 

Which holds and cramps the brain 
And free to understand 

To struggle and attain. 
Aroused — 
Aroused at last to see 
Life's dignity. 

As spring lifts the drooping vine 
And wakens the earth from sleep, 

So currents of strength divine 

Around earth's children sweep — 
At last — 

At last the soul uplifts the veil — 

Hail — all hail. 



40 



THE SILENT LAND 

{From a Picture) 

Here Is a glimpse of the silent land 
Where the fleet wild creatures hunt and hide 
And the cautious moose with antlers wide 

Along the shallows stand, 

While fallow deer like shadows pass 
Between the boles of the forest trees 
And only the sigh of the wandering breeze 

Stirs the tall marsh grass. 



41 



AN UNMANNED BOAT 

I saw from my window today 

A drifting, sinking boat, 

Without guide — without oars or sail 

To save it in storm and gale, — 

The loneliest thing afloat. 

Perhaps on its far home-beach 
One morning the whispering sea , 
Came gently against its side 
And spoke of the ocean wide 
With its foam-tossed, rippling glee. 

Yet never a word was said 
Or ever a whisper breathed 
Of the hidden, desolate graves 
Under the sun-kissed waves 
With clinging sea-weed wreathed. 

And naught of the nights and days 
When storm winds blowing high 
Would toss like a fragile shell 
On the billows' mighty swell 
This plaything of sea and sky! 

All wearily now it glides 
Towards the far horizon's rim! 
Almost human it seems 
Slow drifting on in dreams 
While filling to the brim! 



42 



A LULLABY 

Where is the bobolink 

Singing — singing 

Where is the bumble-bee 
Buzzing 

Where is the katydid 

Roaming, roaming 

Far from the fire-flies 

Far from my baby's eyes, 

Hid in the purple dark 
Gloaming, gloaming 

Hid in the purple dark 
Gloaming. 

Sleep all the pretty things 

Softly, softly 
Tucked in their leafy beds 

Gently. 
Only the green frogs are 

Croaking, croaking 
Under the willow's edge. 
Under the rocky ledge 
And the deep valley mist 

Smoking, smoking 
And the deep valley mist 
Smoking. 



43 



Close then your heavy eyes 

Dear one, dear one, 
Rest in my loving arms 

Safely, 
Whispers of pure delight, 

Creeping, creepng 
Out from the pulsing air 

Cherubs are v^aiting there 
Bringng sweet dreams to thee. 

Sleeping, sleeping 
Bringing sv^eet dreams to thee, 

Sleeping. 



44 



A SONG CYCLE 

Spring 

A whir of wings in the apple boughs, 

A fine thread of green creeping over the fields 

And broadening swiftly as winter yields 

To the delicate whispers of earth and sky, 

A fringe — nothing more to the eye 

On hill-top against the wide stretch of the blue. 

A fringe of golden green, fragrant, delicious and 

new, 
While afar, in the shadowy stillness of dawn 
The note of a bird, marvelous, subtle, and sweet 
Rises in space from a woody retreat. 
The murmurous stir of insect strife 
A budding warmth and life — 
All in a perfect harmony sing 
And proclaim in woods and fields and hills the 

birth of Spring. 



Su 



mmer 



A breath of the noontide heat 
Sifting down thro' the blossoming trees 
A humming of bees in the wheat. 

And a perfume ladened breeze. 

And away to the east and the west 
And away to the south and the north 
Along the horizon's crest 

The waves of heat stream forth. 



45 



Autumn 

Between the day and night — 
Within the darkening twiHght hour 
We feel the life of tree and flower 
Sink slowly to an inner bower. 

Of silence and delight. 

A sense of soft repose 
Leans towards us from the bronzing vine 
And purpling leaf, as from some shrine 
Where Autumn holds a sacred wine 

Prest from the summer rose. 

Winter 

A feathery frost on the window pane 
And a world of snow beneath the moon 
As night resumes her regal reign. 

I see the moonlight spreading far 

As the midnight hour draws to the full 

And its brilliance dims each lustrous star. 

But hush! In the night the lonely calls 
Of some wild migratory bird 
Upon the silence strangely falls, 

Then passes down the farthest hills 
Beyond all hearing — and again 
A stillness cold the midnight nils. 



46 



AN OCEAN MEMORY 

Deep in the hollows of the waves 

That toss their foam across the ship, 
Vast serpents seem to glide along 
In Titan strength 
And endless length, 
Then, sinking, seek those hidden caves 

Where nameless creatures slink and slip 
And tides run still and strong. 

Here is the subtlest element, 

The primal cradle of mankind. 
Here, on this dark, unquiet breast 
Time's nurseling heard 
A whispered word 
And, stirring in slow discontent 

All dumbly groped in circles blind 
And onward — ever upward prest. 

Thro' lengthening spirals high and higher 

Thro' eons, moving towards one hour 
At last in light and radiant form 
Rise from the sea 
Divinely free 
The winged creatures that aspire 

To live beyond the ocean's power 
To fly towards shore thro' wildest storm. 



47 



They reach the safety of the shore 

They rest upon some friendly land 
Which lifted arms of spreading green 
In welcome mild 
To this new child 
Who held all that would be the core 

Of what we feel and understand 
And what humanity shall mean. 

And so we live to sail the deep! 

To span the seas in giant ships! 
So we, as the green waters glide 
In ripples light 
Pure, clear and bright 
Still feel an instinct strong as sleep 
Thrill thro' us to our finger-tips 
As runs in shore the rising tide. 

And leaning towards the ocean foam 

We feel the early joys again 
Those echoes of dim merriment 
The sea folk knew 
Beneath yon blue. 
Oh! some sea-cave with crystal dome 
Held all our hearts' affection when 
We swam the sea in blind content. 



48 



So — drop below 

Swing to and fro, 

Here, there. 

Everywhere, 

Thro' rainbow sheen. 

Thro' the waters green 

Swiftly we pass 

By the tall sea grass. 

Afar to that goal 

Where there is no soul. 

The spell! The spell? 

Nay, all is well, 

We are free at last 

From our earthly past. 

On ocean's bed 

Lie the blessed dead. 



49 



THE SWAN SONG OF AUTUMN 

Down the long lines of forest trees 

Rich with their robe of autumn fire 

A plaintive murmur ran 

Broadening and deepening as it passed 

Athwart the glories of the oak 

And burnished brightness of the maple trees. 

The sighing of the woods it seemed, 

The soft lament of autumn still in leaf 

To that large, pulsing mother life 

Upon whose gentle breast 

The changing seasons wake 

And bloom and fade and sleep. 

The Lament 

Farewell oh! life of earth 

Farewell oh! ardent sun 
Whose love drew towards their birth 

Our fair leaves one by one. 

A long farewell to light 

To color, joy and grace, 
Down to the inmost night 

We gather face to face. 

Over us lie the snows 

And the glistening frost and ice, 
While the winter tempest blows 

They hold us in a vise. 



50 



Yet we feel in the body of death 

A spirit of life arise 
Filled with diviner breath 

And boundless as the skies. 



Thus thro' the ancient wood 

Crowned with the splendors of the autumn 

leaf 
This plaintive swan song 
Rose and fell in ever fainter echoes. 

It seemed a wandering soul 
Had passed — so fleet 
Yet so august and somber 
Was the sound. 



51 



THE WINDS ARE SCULPTORS OF THE 
CLOUDS 

{Written at St. Moritz, Switzerland) 

The winds are sculptors of the clouds 
And shape them to their swift designs; 

See yonder vessel with her shrouds 
Rising aloft in bold outlines. 

Look at that giant lying there 

Against the rugged mountain's breast, 

His huge proportions grandly bare, 
His limbs composed as if in rest. 

Now, lighted by the sinking sun 
A rosy group of children dance — 

And then in widening circles run 
Before an army's quick advance. 

It sweeps across the darkening sky 
With banners floating to the breeze 

And on yon mountain far and high 

Frowns the grim fort they raze and seize. 

What droops along the glacier's face 

In silver veils of trailing mist ? 
Ah — now I see — it grows apace 

And changes to an amethyst. 



52 



Still changing by a touch — a turn — 

A crown is on the glacier's head 
And rows of regal rubies burn 

To grace this monarch of" the dead. 

They pale, they fade, they die away 
And other shapes drift into view 

A lion holds a stag at bay, 

Armed men with elephants pursue. 

Great droves of oxen, flocks of birds, 
Long, writhing serpents fold on fold. 

And prairie buflfalo in herds 

These master sculptors lightly mould. 

That figure as it calmly stands 

Rivals the craft of Angelo, 
His "Moses" sits — this one commands 

The world with the gesture grand and slow. 

There to the right an angel form 

Hovers above the snowy height. 
Then flies before the coming storm 

Which rolls its thunders to the night. 



53 



WHAT IS A BROOK? 

It is the '*yungling" of the woods and hills 
And, in the spring, when gorges overflow, 

The merry chatter of its water fills 
The wooded lands and villages below. 

For then it capers on the wheels of mills 
And swings from side to side, and to and fro 

Adown its banks and in among its rocks 

And in a gay refrain the cypress mocks. 

The sweet, melodious banter of its song 
Arouses from their sleep the somber trees 

Who lean to guard it with their branches strong 
From burning sunlight or the boisterous breeze, 

And as it wends its babbling way along 
Stand in a still content and happy ease 

As parents do who with indulgence see 

Their boys leap past them happy to be free. 



54 



THE AWAKENING 

Again I hear a robin call 

His ringing reveille to spring 
And just beyond my garden wall 

The bobolinks are on the wing. 

The hawthorn buds begin to trace 
In matchless forms of leaf and flower 

Their virgin shadows — fine as lace 
Upon the ground in quivering power. 

The scent of hidden violets 

Is wafted to me from the hill, 
And, in a moment, one forgets 

The winter's desolating chill. 

The lark has risen to midair 

And sings from out that dizzy height 

As thro' he sees — while poising there 

The spring's approach in warmth and light. 

For him the message of the seer — 
For him the high, unclouded view, 

A prophet of the changing year 

Watching from out that vault of blue . 

The air blows soft across the land 
Bringing a moist and earthy breath 

And mosses, roots and ferns expand, 
For life again has conquered death. 



55 



FOREBODING 

When all the land is bathed in light 
Long streamers from the western sky, 

The herald of the coming night 
Along the mountain slie. 

And, as the color fades away 

From out the sunset's ruddy gold 

A phantom shadow-glow of day 
Arises clear and cold. 

Then from the circle of the hills 
Is borne a cool and mystic breath 

And all the warmth of summer thrills 
With whisperings of death. 



56 



ASTIR 

There is something new in the nation, east and 

south and west, 
A spirit of civic-freedom which does not halt or 

rest, 
It has roused the sleeping conscience of multi- 
tudes of men. 
It has whispered to our statesmen again and yet 

again. 
But the hour is fast approaching when the 

dullest must awake 
To hear the new voice speaking — To see the 

new day break. 
Woe to the latest sleepers — Woe to our enemies 
Here in American highways or there across the 

seas. 
For their doom will come upon them swift and 

sudden and strong 
The doom which a quickened people shall mete 

to them ere long. 
No more the slogan of party rings with its old- 
time power, 
The docile ranks of the voters are thinning hour 

by hour, 
For Freedom speaks among them, and listening 

to her voice 
They hear that nobler watchword which makes 

a world rejoice. 



S7 



Away with our civic bondage, away with our 

blind content, 
With ignorance and selfishness and venal better- 
ment. 
Stand by the men who aid us to win in the nearing 

strife 
They are the sons of Freedom. They know of 

the deeper life. 
For astir — astir in the nation and listened to 

at last. 
Is the voice that called our patriot sires from out 

our mighty past. 
It called and they responded — Shall we not 

also rise 
And answer to the summons ere our great 

moment dies ? 



58 



NATURE IN THE MOUNTAINS 

She plays upon the organ stops of life 
When, gathered in the foldings of the hills, 
Her children breathe the purer mountain air 
And wake to see her great simplicities. 
The over-stress of modern life is gone. 
Behold us now — aware — alive — alert. 
Touched by her murmurs in the brook. 
Her solemn thunders on the mountain slope. 

Each day reveals her in a nobler way 

To our starved senses. And these summer 

nights. 
All throbbing with the mighty planet lights 
And glancing radiance of the silver moon. 
Clothe us anew in all primeval joys. 
High nature in the mountains of the world 
Instructs in clarion tones serene and sweet. 
And we — her children — see her face to face. 



59 



CRIES OF THE PEOPLE 



God, they've taken my baby away, 
While I slept they took my new-born son! 
Quick — bring him back or I'll rise from the bed. 
What? "He smothered to death in this room?" 
He's dead! My boy! That cannot be. 

I've got to have him — see — woman — see, 

1 live in this room, then why can't he ? 

The doctor said that ''the poisoned air of this 

dreadful place has killed the child." 
Why, you'll set me mad, you'll set me wild. 
Don't I know it's bad, but where can we go ? 
Poor folk have got to pay high for fresh air, 
So an air-shaft window must do for us. 

give me my baby — I love him so. 
He cannot be dead! I'll call to the rich 
And beg them to help me keep it alive. 
I'll call and cry — "O give us air, 
God's air, to make our children thrive, 
Our little ones we love so well. 

Our little ones who make the home. 
They're all we poor folk have to love. 
Without them we may go to hell. 
Listen and heed, O heed my cry, 
A dying mother calls to you." 

1 will not live without my boy. 

His cold mouth feel I at my breast. 
His heavy head upon my arm. 
Give us air — O eive us air! 



60 



II 



Who comes there thro' the dismal hall ? 
A stealthy step — a sudden spring, 
And down goes the lodger across the way. 
Some one is there in the dark with him 
Crushing his life out in deadly hate, 
Ho — the police! Quick, help, O help! 
Look! on that grimy, rotting floor 
They struggle and swing from side to side 
And no one comes, for no one cares. 
Fll catch them there in spite of the dark, 
The slippery floor and narrow space. 
Hold, man, hold — you shall not kiM! 
Stop! — don't throw that knife at me! 
God! I'm struck — I'm down — I'm dead! 



Ill 



We men stand watching the wealthy pass 
In their carriages, satin-lined. 

We men take note of this "upper class'* 
And bear then well in mind. 

We think we know their selfishness 
Which shuts them from mankind. 

We never touch them in life's press. 
They are shadows, deaf and blind. 



6i 



They are shadows, useless, ugly and vast, 

The goblins of this age, 
Their palaces, cars and yachts we cast 

In the scales with our rising rage. 

We turn to our wives and our little ones, 

All poorly clad and fed; 
We see the labor of our sons. 

And it maddens the heart and head. 

Oh who will help us at our need 

Oh who will hear our cry 
Oh who will collar their reckless greed 

Before our children die ? 

We live in crowded tenements; 

They are fire-traps, each and all — 
And the heartless men who fix our rents 

May grind us to the wall. 

The law allows this fearfull curse 

To drag the people down, 
The law sees only the open purse, 

And hears us with a frown. 

Justice, Justice is our claim. 

The courts should hear us speak, 

We men can show who is to blame 
For the sufferings of the weak. 



62 



Ye selfish, idle millionaires, 
Come, see us, where we live. 

Look at our loved ones he who dares 
And then refuse to give! 

No charity we ask of you — 
No careless or grudging dole, 

But the chance for us to rise and do 
And for you, the chance of a soul. 



IV 



Isn't it nice to see the sky 

And the birds that fly past one by one. 

And the smoke that dances and whirls and curls, 

And clouds that run away with the sun ? 

I lie on my bed while mother's away 

And every day she goes to work 

At washing or scrubbing or what she can find, 

For I'm an incurable, so they say 

At the children's hospital where I was; 

But mother — she says — ** Never mind, my boy, 

We've got a window — so don't you care. 

And when your back hurts just say a prayer 

For all those children who have no share 

In a window open to God's air." 



63 



My baby that was is a young woman now 

Full sixteen years come Easter eve — 

And I — who was born of good, clean folk 

Must see her walking the streets by day 

Ad trailing and creeping about in the night! 

Our one room holds a family of eight, 

And we have to live in this little pen, 

For we haven't money to live like men. 

By heaven — I'll kill her when she comes in! 

Better to send her out of a world 

That takes no heed for her body or soul 

If that soul and body belong to sin. 

Yet, oh my girl, is it all your fault ? 

Men may say yes — but God will say no. 



64 



LINES ON GUIDO RENFS BEATRICE 
CENCI 

{In the Barberini Palace^ Rome) 

Ah, look and see her 
Resting there so pale and still, 

No fluttering stir 
Of pulse awakes that slumbering will 
From dreams of what it must fullfil. 

So young she seems, 
With lips half parted like a child 

Who, smiling, dreams. 
Yet in her eyes a shadow wild 
Reveals a soul unreconciled. 

Dark, deadly fears 
Have clouded all her sunny face. 

No soothing tears 
Can the long tragedy displace 
And give her back life's early grace. 

An image fair 
Of melancholy without hope! 

Pictured despair — 
Which only can in darkness grope 
Along hell's narrow, crumbling slope. 



65 



That purest brow 
Speaks without words to you and me. 

We know her now — 
Thou truest maid enslaved yet free 
We lift our prayers to heaven for thee! 



66 



THE CHANT OF A FRIGATE 

Hark! I hear my timbers straining 

As I slowly rise and fall, 
And my sagging masts complaining 

As they loom there, dark and tall. 

I seem only fit for selling 

As I lie here — gaunt and old, 

Yet in memory 1 am dwelling 

With those war-dogs — fierce and bold. 

I can see them in the offing 

Cleared and ready for the fight, 

And their maddened sailors scoffing 
As I raked them, day and night. 

How we fought them needs brave telling, 
Stilled their forts and closed their trade, 

Then — our blackened jackies yelling 
Louder than the cannonade! 

For they see our ** colors" rising — 

And our Navy pennant wave 
Mighty symbols signalizing 

Freedom for the helpless slave. 

But my thoughts are forward flying 

Now, in peace, I see us sail 
Where the Cornwell gulls are crying 

Their shrill challenge to the gale. 

67 



Thro' those stormy waters sweeping 
I float onward, 'mid applause, 

Flags saluting — cannon keeping 
Up a welcome without pause. 

To my deck I see them coming 
Men of rank and highest fame. 

And their words of praise go humming 
Thro' my proudly quivering frame. 

Ladies fair my men are meeting 

Kings and queens have traveled far 
Just to see and give me greeting. 
Just to note each honored scar. 

Past those dreams — I feel like fading, 
And the end looms into view. 

Old and feebly retrograding 
Without officers or crew! 

Oh, that fire would set me blazing, — 

As a beacon in the night, 
And the landsmen dully gazing 

Wonder at the glorious sight! 

Not as merchant vessel ending 
My long life upon the sea — 

But from keel to mast ascending 
As a flame — untamed and free! 



68 



ETERNAL LOVE 

Thro' the pure and awful heavens breathes 
a breath, a murmur vast, 

Spreading dreamlike in the silence thro* the eons 
of the past. 

Reaching forward to the future far beyond the 
lines of time. 

Streaming in upon the human as a soft, half- 
whispered chime. 



As a breath too close for knowledge — as a voice 

too great to hear, 
Falling like the softest zephyr, rising thro' us 

loud and clear. 
Sweeping with a master's power all the chords 

of human life 
Till the magic of that music maddens us to 

deadliest strife. 

Loud we rage, we weep, we suffer, crying, calling 

to be heard. 
While above our pain, the music surges softly 

word on word. 
When at last we cease our raging, sink into a 

stillness deep. 
Then, in peace, we hear the music, watch the 

others storm and weep. 



60 



And a hope is born within us — faint as perfume 

of the spring, 
That the meaning of that music takes from life 

its bitter sting. 
For the music speaks a language listening ears 

may understand, 
And in listening to it's beauty, life with love, 

walks hand in hand. 

And the knowledge sinks and deepens, and the 

vision clearer grows 
That the masterful musician — He it is who loves 

and knows. 
He it is whose endless patience sighing thro' 

humanity 
Woos us from our petty sadness — leads us out 

to liberty. 



70 



THE CHOICE 

Place: A Studio in New York. 

Time: The Present. 

Characters: Hugo Manning, Helen Van 
Amberg. 
Hugo: — 
This studio with all its sweep of light. 
Its harmonies of color, — its repose 
And most of all — its tone of self-restraint — 
All make me feel your values, oh, my friend. 

That latest canvas, — may I look at it ? 
And will you tell me in your own swift way 
Your reasons for this panel of delight. 
This brimming picture of the wine of life ? 

Helen: — 
That panel will be sent a week from now 
To stand in competition for the place 
So coveted, — so sought for by us all. 
I mean by mural workers — East and West, 
Whose strong designs and ampler modes of art 
Are drawing up this country's art ideals 
To take a place of dignity and worth 
Among the older nations of the world. 

Forgive me — I will not again digress, 
Yet you must have some patience as I show 
By slower method than my usual way 
A fuller reason why I thus compete 
For this unique and brilliant place of fame. 
Have I your interest then my friend of friends 
In speaking, — or are you in haste today ? 
71 



Hugo: — 
Never in haste when that same friendly voice 
Will deign to hold me captive by its spell: 
And — truly, this same subject that you treat 
Has often puzzled those v^ho know you well, 
You — who are looked upon as fortune's child, — 
With not a wish ungranted — says the world: 
This splendid studio a toy would seem, — 
But for that steadiness of earnest work 
Accomplished during these eight busy years 
Which now I feel you mean to top and crown 
By this design of spacious panelling. 
Come — tell me — truest artist that you are, 
Why have you entered at the public mart 
Of this state building's test for these designs,— 
The best of which, — the keen Committee says 
Shall line the walls of their new Capitol ? 
Need you wait as smaller mortals must 
The cold, unbending judgment of these men ? 

Helen: — 
Ah! once — but once — if only once to stand 
Quite free and separate from all my past. 
To be myself, — to rise or fall by that 
Would compensate for all those unreal hours. 
Those bitter moments of my happy life 
When I have known defeat thro* compliment, 
Diaster to my highest hopes, thro' love 
And awful ennui, bleak and burdensome, 
Forever stalking thro' my formal days! 



72 



Here comes my chancel — the way of my escape, 
They see my work, — they know not whose it is, 
They judge it good or bad, — no favors shown. 

Hugo: — 
Ah, — now I read you, as it were ,anew! 

Helen: — 
Well, — turn then to my picture here at hand; 
Do you, my keenest friend, — see what it is ? 
Have I too vaguely or too plainly shown 
My meaning ? Painted in my atmosphere 
Too clearly or too subtly do you think ? 

Hugo: — 
I see no flaw — the wonder is alive. 
Sweeps out beyond the canvas to my soul 
And lifts me in a whirling maze of joy — 
To life's most perfect bubble of delight. 

Yet there's a figure which is not complete — 
And there — that branch needs still a shade or two 
To make it seem to tremble 'gainst the wall 
As tho' it felt the wind among its leaves 
And heard the whisper of its wandering love. 
The pane, is not pictured panel now 
But seems a meadow into which I step 
A living, — glowing land surcharged with light. 
Am I not right ? You show unshadowed life ? 



n 



Helen: — 
Yes, you are right. Your heart beats with your 

brain. 
I felt it good to speak one pictured word 
Of joy, uncheckered joy, as life should be. 
And now a respite from our deeper selves. 
My carriage waits to take me to the Park. 
Come with me — all the spring attends us there. 

Hugo: — 
Your pleasure is my deeper happiness. 
I gladly follow you — yet may I beg 
That soon you visit a poor studio 
In which there works a strong competitor 
For this same highly valued mural prize 
Which you yourself will sure win from him. 
His panel seems the opposite of yours — 
Will you not care to go with me today ? 

Helen: — 
Yes, we can go this idle afternoon. 
And afterward the winding avenues. 
The greening vistas of our Central Park 
Which, in a little space, has lengthened out 
Its varied landscape as with magic wand 
And doubles, trebles every foot of ground 
With sweet variety and wizard charm. 



74 



Part Second 

Time: A week later. 
Place: The Same Studio. 

Helen Van Amherg alone before her picture: — 
Yes, I have to face the fact at last. 
All week my thought has hovered like a bird 
Above the changing sea of circumstance, 
Afraid to venture landward till the gale 
Of my wild wishes had been lulled to rest 
By something which is stronger than my will 
Yet seems so effortless, so still — so deep. 

Well — Come now. I must swiftly search my 

heart. 
On Thursday last — a week ago today — 
I went to see that artist's studio — 
I mean the panel that he worked upon. 
He was not there — the picture filled the room 
Or so it seemed at least. And all was dark 
Save where the light upon the canvas fell 
And showed the suffering and the majesty 
Of every figure — every shadowed face. 
The landscape —'very somberly exprest — 
But added to the tragedy and gloom 
And vital truth of that supreme despair 
Which radiated from that thing of life. 

I stood amazed, bewildered, overcome. 
Then turning, left the room in sudden haste. 
My friend beside me wondered but obeyed. 

75 



Nor could I tell him of that strange unrest 

Which rose within me — a resistless tide 

Engulfing all my argosies of youth 

And strewing them in blind impartial waste 

Upon a treacherously smiling sea 

Which drew them under with a careless ease 

And swiftness, as tho' things of little worth, 

While I standing, watching from the shore 

Have questioningly wondered — "Is it so?" 

**Have they no value — no reality ? 

Or have I lost the best that life can give 

And now stand bankrupt to my very soul!'* 

I know not — but at least one point seems clear 

Amid the tangle of my inmost thought, 

And steadily progressing towards that light 

From day to day I have moved on till now 

I see the road before me opening straight 

And slowly find myself upon the way — 

My panel — ah! I see it with new eyes. 
The other panel is the better one. 
The world is not yet ready for that joy, 
Which calls so clearly from my canvas here. 
Deep pain and grief and bitter sadness haunt 
The ways of men, and yet there is no strength! 
To lift the burdens — push them from the world 
And clothe and comfort and again lift up 
The naked, beaten souls of every land. 



76 



Therefore his picture is the truer one — 
His message rouses even sluggish hearts 
And makes them start from out their sordid 

dreams 
To feel the pulse of a united life 
When fallen sisters drag the purest down. 
When evil brothers chain the minds of men, 
When suffering children reach the happy ones, 
We are one body — we — the race of men. 
I therefore draw my knife across my work 
Obliterating all that sunlit space 
In favor of the panel which I know 
Will, after mine, receive the foremost place. 



77 



BETWEEN SLEEP AND DEATH 

Within the shadows of a winter night 

I lay in sleep — in free, unguarded sleep. 
The portals of my spirit closed from sight 

Yet open to a region where we keep 
Our visions — dreams — impressions of delight 

Or fearsome instincts terrible and deep. 
And, as I slept, I felt a catch, a breath 

And then a sudden sinking to the state of death. 

I lay entranced — afraid to move or think, 

Until from inner depths the wish arose 
To feel, to see, to piece things link by link. 

To watch the earthly drama to its close. 
To catch one tone of love before I sink 

And lose myself in death's untried repose. 
But, as I moved — before me banks of cloud 

Rolled white and vast and clothed me in a 
shroud. 

A blinding impulse stirred me thro' and thro' 

It was not fear — nor joy akin to awe. 
But rather that my soul one instant knew 

The deathless power of almighty law. 
And then reflection gradually grew 
Within my thought — until I felt — I saw 
The reasons for our constant storm and stress, 
Our blind desires and quick forgetfulness. 



78 



And thus I stood uncertain of my way, 

And dreading yet desiring to be gone, 
I saw the earth beneath me, where it lay 

A dim and shadowy sphere against the dawn. 
The pallid dawn whose faint outlines of gray 

Like veils across the hemisphere were drawn, 
As if the very heavens were but a dream. 

With only Spirit conscious and supreme. 

Within me rose a tide of bitter gloom — 

For all my life seemed fatuous and vain, 
And I — an idler at that mighty loom 

Wherein is spun a fair and mystic skein 
Which guides us from the cradle to the tomb. 

And by whose silken strength at last we gain 
The farther side of death's relentless sea 

Spent and alone — but passionless and free. 

Again I looked, and saw down dropping low 

That shrouding bank of cloud about we sweep. 
And I in eddying circles drifting slow 

Regained the meadow-land of mortal sleep. 
Then came a pause, and then a warmth — a 
glow. 

My strength flowed in upon me strong and 
deep. 
The walls of earthly life had interposed 

And all my spirit's portals gently closed. 



79 



ii w^? 




■ffiSii. 






'•■ 




